


our bodies, safe to shore

by WashiEaglewings



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/M, Gen, They Share The Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mild case of underage drinking, post-battle fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashiEaglewings/pseuds/WashiEaglewings
Summary: A collection of tiny one-shots that I'll never flesh out but want to save anyway.i.His limbs still feel like static, three hours after the end.ii.At some point he’d reached out for her hand and hadn’t let go.





	1. a reunion kiss [k]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of the final batle.

His limbs still feel like static, three hours after the end.

Terra doesn’t remember coming here to Radiant Garden, only waking up in a room with lilac walls and lace curtains that flutter in a nonexistent wind. The woman in pink–Aerith, he thinks, who only looks at him through the corners of her green eyes; she seems familiar, though he knows they’ve never met–has visited him once, to change his bandages and give him a glass of water.

He doesn’t move except to turn his head. Ventus is laying in the chair to his left, his head wrapped in bandages and eyes fluttering with sleep. (Someone else had come in here, taken one look at him, and laughed. Terra remembers that, remembers the stranger refusing to explain the joke.) The black jacket he’d always worn is draped over the back of the chair, torn to shreds. Useless for anything other than fabric scraps, or a bloody reminder.

He’s waiting for a voice in his head, a painful tug of his muscles like he’s being pulled by strings–there’s Ventus, he’s right here, _what are you waiting for?_ –but nothing comes. There’s only the low hush of his own breathing, and the static numbing him from finger tip to toe. Ven sleeps on with only a slight crease in his brow. It doesn’t suit him.

But the low groan to his right pulls Terra away. Aqua lies in the long bed, bundled in huge white blankets, just as she had before. This time her eyes are half-open, glazed and unfocused. Her hand, it had been dark with something when he’d last seen it, dirt or grime or–

“Blue,” she murmurs, clearing her throat and wincing.

Not blue. Black. Red and rich and dripping. That’s the last time he’d seen her: with a Keyblade in her abdomen and her screams in his ears as white claimed the sky.

But the water is clear, and the only dark things in this room are his memories. Terra reaches out clumsily to push it to her side of the little end table.

She doesn’t even glance at the water glass before she whispers, “You’re okay.”

She’s not: there are long dark circles under her eyes made darker by her pale skin. He doesn’t feel his arm moving but he sees it, stretched enough to skirt the very edge of her bed. She reaches down with her own trembling hand, her fingers ice cold against his. “Just like,” she says, twisting to him–and then hisses, wrenching him forward.

He looks down. Maybe three feet between their beds. He lets go of her hand to slowly hoist himself up, grabbing the wall and trying not to make a sound. When both feet are on the ground he pauses. He looks up to see Aqua scooting over, lifting up the corners of the blankets where she’d just been.

Terra stumbles. Wavers. Just catches his knees on the mattress instead of the bed frame. He falls gracelessly on top of the covers, narrowly missing Aqua. But after a bit of adjusting he positions himself beside her, lying on his side with their hair mixing on the white pillowcases.

She seems smaller somehow, up close. Not the way he remembers her. But Aqua looks up and grabs his hand again, still flat on her back. “I can’t move,” she says–not bitter, but defeated. It’s worse than seeing Ven’s face crumpled up while he sleeps.

He grabs her hand again, rubbing gently in the dip between her thumb and index finger. Then he brings it to his lips, ghosting them against her knuckles. _I’m sorry_ , he mouths.

There’s a sleepy, warm smile on her face now. “Stay with me?” she asks, turning her head with her cheek flat against the pillow.

He scoots closer until their noses touch, just a breath away from each other. They don’t have the strength or energy to do more that press their lips together, but it’s enough. It’s a start.


	2. a drunken kiss [t]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking, double entendres, daring.

She doesn’t know what good sake tastes like, only that she’s fourteen and giggling and she’s only had three small cups of the stuff. Terra, who might have had four or five—she’d stopped paying attention when the room around her started blurring—keeps smacking his lips like it’s the good stuff, like he’s a connoisseur and this sake cost him more than a few hundred munny. 

At some point he’d reached out for her hand and hadn’t let go. There’s a new line carved in his palm and she fingers it absentmindedly, tilting her head to the side. “This healed nicely.”

“Y’r talented,” he slurs, swallowing. “Feel good.” 

She blinks, looking up at him. Somehow his face has gone even redder. “H-heal good. Heal,” he says, and pulls away.

She didn’t expect to miss the warmth of his hand around hers. She scoots closer to him, above him, her hair long and brushing against his shoulders. His eyes are bluer in a flushed face, wide and drunk-bright as he looks up at her. She quirks her head to the side. “You think?”

“Think what?”

“Both?”

He doesn’t answer. Her head throbs to fill the silence; she winces, putting her head down against his chest. His heart beats beneath her ear, slow and steady, and she sighs. It’s grounding, though she’ll never ever tell him that.

“Did you know there are different kinds of drunks?”

“Oh?”

“I think you’re a snuggle drunk.”

“What drunk’re you?”

“Not drunk yet.”

“Liar. Face red,” she says, as he opens his mouth to protest.

She lifts her head to look at him—but he had been lifting his head too, and she hadn’t seen, and now their lips are soft against each other. Just a graze, not enough to taste sake on him. She's sure her face is crimson now.

She bites her lip and turns away. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I’m—”

“We should stop—”

But he comes up again to kiss her, leaning on his elbows. There’s a new gleam in his eyes when he looks up to her that looks different from his usual bravery—less valor, more risk-taking. “Do you want to?”

She doesn’t, and dives in. She likes this spinning better.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter and Pillowfort as awakingdormancy!


End file.
